CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. ‘Exactement. “You are really a good Samaritan,” she declared. Presently repellance grew under the frozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it. You have to see her to understand. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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